


Slow Day

by EvvieJo



Series: Groves & Shaw [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7887280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvvieJo/pseuds/EvvieJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Machine has been silent for a little too long for Shaw's liking, and time demands to be killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is very short, but I've had a busy month, and I haven't been able to plan the story I want to write next, and this felt like an appropriate fill-in before I can get to that. I'll try not to dawdle too much with the next installment.

Shaw was bored. Utterly, out of her freaking mind bored. Her hands were itching to shoot a gun, or at least punch someone. Even a stakeout would have done. But no, the Machine was unusually silent. Their last number was the previous night – a simple deal of stopping two guys from robbing a bank just before closing – and she had hoped she would wake up to Root telling her they had something bigger on their plate for today.

What she ended up waking up to wasn’t exactly unwelcome, since the first thing she saw was a tray heavy with a proper breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. Root even added a single flower in a slim vase next to all the plates and the mug of wonderfully strong coffee. Those small romantic gestures were still something Shaw was only beginning getting used to, but she had stopped rolling her eyes at them a long time ago. Ex-assassin or not, Root could just be the sappiest person in the entire world, and there was no changing that.

They had stayed in bed until late morning, waiting for the Machine to give them something to work with. When the anticipation was too much, Root decided they were going to go to the subway. Or their office, as she called it, causing Shaw a moment of confusion.

So there they were, sitting around at the two desks in the main area, with the payphone obstinately silent and Bear snoring lightly as he napped by the train car.

“Maybe the Machine’s acting up,” Shaw suggested, taking her eyes off of the news she was mindlessly scrolling through.

“It isn’t, I checked.” Root looked up from painting her fingernails black. “She’ll let us know when there’s anything.”

“What if someone got Samaritan back up?”

Root rolled her eyes at that and smiled.

“There’s literally nothing left to get back up, She smashed it into smithereens,” she said, putting one last touch of polish onto her pinky nail, and wiggled her fingers. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried, I’m bored.”

At that, Shaw began inspecting their new office. Some things hadn’t changed, like the train car and the armory, or Root’s bedroom, but she was surprised to find letterheads with their P.I. business logo in a desk drawer. She lifted them up to Root, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“This is really a proper office now?,” she asked.

Root only shrugged.

“I thought it was a nice touch. We never really had that with Harold.”

“Yeah, because putting Harold’s Halfway House for Retired Assassins on paper might’ve raised some questions.” Root smirked at that, and Sameen threw the letterheads back into the drawer she took them out of with a look of slight distaste. “I’m not using those, anyway.”

“As you wish,” Root said and blew on her perfectly painted fingernails. “I’m still waiting for the company pens.”

It was impossible not to roll her eyes, so Shaw didn’t restrain herself.

“What’s next, embroidered towels? Wait, no, don’t answer that. Who’s even paying for all of that?”

“I am,” Root said with another shrug. “I have some savings.”

Shaw propped her feet on her desk and folded her arms over her chest.

“Some savings. How much is some exactly?”

It took a moment for Root to reply, during which she studiously avoided making eye contact. When she finally did answer, she was still examining the fresh layer of black nail enamel.

“A few- Several million.”

Shaw blinked a couple of times.

“Come again?”

“I told you. I reclaimed some of my old accounts when I wiped our slates clean. What would be the point of getting back empty accounts?” She smiled brilliantly and leaned in towards Sameen.

“And how did you come by the several million in those accounts?,” Shaw asked.

 “You should know, Sam, they pay much better in the private sector.”

Shaw sighed and pulled away from Root. Money wasn’t particularly important for her, but it was impossible not to think that she might have been grossly underpaid working for the ISA.

“So you’ve been rolling in dough while I was busting my ass hunting terrorists?”

The distance that Shaw created between them, Root promptly made sure to close.

“Figuratively speaking, yes. But you have to consider I might have taken out one or two bad guys over the years.”

“Please,” Shaw snorted. “Before the whole business with the Machine?”

“There was this one mob boss once?,” Root offered, trying to suppress a smile.

They stared at each other for a moment without a word, until Sameen gave up, rolled her eyes and went back to her computer. The payphone was still silent. Damn it.

“Anything new?,” asked Root after a moment’s silent.

“Nope. The last time the city’s been so quiet was- well, when it was Samaritan Town.”

Root reached a hand to put it on Shaw’s shoulder.

“Told you, it’s not Samaritan.”

“Can’t you just tell her to give us a number?” Sameen used the pleading voice she knew made Root weak.

“You know it doesn’t work that way.” Root paused and moved in her chair towards the other end of her desk. “But I guess we could kill some time. I don’t think we’ll be having any clients today.”

“Or ever,” Shaw muttered, earning a scorn from her girlfriend. “Okay, so what do we do?”

A minute passed without answer as Root rummaged through a drawer, until she found what she was looking for: a slightly fatigued deck of cards.

“Strip poker?,” she asked, throwing the small box to Sameen.

“You have definitely had worse ideas.”

 

It wasn’t long before Shaw decided Root was cheating. There was absolutely no way for her to be losing every bet, and being so obvious about the hand she was dealt. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Root was sitting there, on the floor of the subway car with only her underwear and one sock left on, while the only item of clothing Sameen had lost was one shoe.

And as much as watching Root half-naked raised no complaints on her part, she’d rather the game was a little bit more even.

So with the next bet, Shaw did what Root wasn’t expected and played with a king. She had assumed Root had a great hand because the face she had made when she checked her cards said the opposite.

“Whoops,” said Root, presenting her own straight flush. “Guess your luck’s run out, sweetie.”

Sameen grimaced at her and kicked off her other shoe.

“I just saw you through. You can’t keep your face straight.”

Root abandoned her remaining cards and tugged Shaw forward by the lapels of her blazer.

“Well, that flush was the only straight thing about me.”

“Seriously, can you just stop talking?,” Shaw said. She didn’t roll her eyes only because they were too focused on Root’s lips just inches away.

And soon enough there was no more space left between them, and Shaw didn’t even mind that Root pinned her down to the floor, removing her blazer and shirt without looking. They were just lips and hands, and bodies hungry for one another. There was no way they would be left without bite marks and bruises, and neither of them minded.

Shaw was just about to finally get to the clasp of Root’s bra when someone cleared his throat at the door.

“Haven’t you two heard of locking the door?”

They jerked apart, Root completely at ease, combing her unruly hair off her face, while Shaw grabbed her recently removed shirt to cover herself with it. She wasn’t particularly embarrassed to be caught in flagrante delicto, but she preferred keeping these things to herself. And Root.

Lionel Fusco was standing in the middle of the subway with a white cardboard box in his hands, and an expression of thinly veiled amusement on his face.

“We weren’t expecting visitors, Lionel,” Root said politely and made her way – still in her panties, bra and one sock – over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You could’ve called.”

“Oh right, ‘cause you’re civilized people now,” he said sarcastically. “Next time I’ll warn you.”

“What’s that?,” Shaw asked, having put her shirt back and pointing at the box.

“Donuts, what’d you think? An office warming gift, or whatever.”

The box was out of his hands in seconds.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Root said and patted Fusco on the arm. Shaw was already devouring a bearclaw.

“Yeah, yeah, can you put some clothes on, Cocoa Puffs?” Root made a sad face at him, but sashayed to the stack of the clothes she had lost at poker. “So this is what you’re doing here, huh? Playing dirty games?”

Shaw swallowed an enormous bite of the pastry and licked icing off one of her fingers.

“She doesn’t let me shoot people, so yeah.”

“What she means to say is, we haven’t had anyone to shoot since last night,” Root shouted from the train car where she was dressing herself. “We usually play dirty games at home.”

Lionel made a face.

“Alright, alright, spare me the details.” His face turned serious, and Shaw reached for another donut. “So, that thing’s still talking?”

“Yes, She is,” Root said firmly, before Sameen could say anything more about glitching. “It’s just been quiet today, so we’re waiting.”

Fusco settled into one of the chairs for clients and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t speak for a moment, looking around the subway. When Root offered him coffee, he accepted a cup with a monosyllable.

“So, you know, if you need something- check out some bad guys or something, you got my number, yeah?,” he said eventually.

Root and Shaw exchanged a glance. They had decided to keep Lionel in the safety of the 8th Precinct and involve him as minimally as possible in their semi-legal activities. It seemed, however, that he was prepared to go back to work for the Machine in his previous capacity.

This was not the plan, although there was no need to read him in on it. The two of them didn’t have much in the way of a normal life, and they weren’t about to take the semblance of it that Lionel was lucky enough to have kept.

“Sure,” Shaw said.

“Okay.” Fusco took a loud gulp of coffee, set his cup back onto the desk, and got up, heading to the door. “So- uh- have fun.”

“Bye, Lionel,” Root said in a sing-song voice, and Sameen gave him a tiny wave.

The door closed behind him, and Shaw finished stuffing her third donut into her mouth.

“Wanna get back to what we were doing?,” she asked, sucking at her icing-sticky index finger.

There was no need to prompt Root. She bit her lip seductively and took to taking all her clothes off again. Before she could remove more than just her shirt, the subway filled with the familiar sound of the payphone ringing.

They leaped towards the phone in perfect synchronicity.

 


End file.
